That's When Things Got Out of Control
by The Lady Morgainne
Summary: HPDM. Set after the 6th Book. Harry must return to Privet Drive once more to retain the effects of the protection spell. Then Draco shows up. Then Aunt Petunia. And that's when things started getting out of control...
1. Prelude

**A Prelude**

Privet Drive had ceased to be a normal place a long time ago. Mrs. Prewitt had no idea that there was anything special about her old neighbor Mrs. Figg, barring her slight eccentricity and borderline creepy obsession with cats. Mr. Nelson was completely oblivious to the fact that not only had the fugitive Black been seen in the park behind his house, but that his two young daughters had brought him home as a very friendly stray. To the casual observer, the only thing the slightest bit _not_ normal about Privet was the absurdly high level of pompousness from its inhabitants. Mrs. Delia was just as clueless, as she peered over the fence trying to get a glimpse of the Dursleys. A few more inches and she would be able to see directly into their kitchen, and of course any self respecting gossip knew that the juiciest pieces of gossip originated in the kitchen.

Doris Delia had it in for the Dursleys. They were so perfect; everyone loved them. Did you hear about Mr. Dursley's promotion? Have you tasted Mrs. Dursley's lemon meringue pie? Isn't their son so smart in his Smeltings uniform? It made her sick, and it was this perhaps that caused her to be the most clueless of all Privet Drive's residents. She was so focused on the actual Dursley family that she never spent much time pondering their reclusive nephew. However today, finding no one in the kitchen when she was finally able to peer over the wall, Doris for once turned her attention to this special boy. She snorted as she saw him where he always was, sitting in that window of his starring out into nothing. Doris pursed her lips in an annoyed fashion and returned to actual gardening, a hobby she practiced only when the Dursleys weren't being interesting. In doing this Mrs. Delia only reaffirmed her membership to the clueless numbers of Privet Drive muggles because the thing that made Privet Drive especially _non-_normal was that one Harry Potter resided at number 4 Privet Drive. The Boy Who Lived, the bearer of a lightening shaped scar, the bane of dementors, basilisks, and other fearsome creatures alike, and the sole enemy of Lord Voldemort.

~*~

Harry stared out of his window at the Dursley's. It was his fifth day back, and he was about to kill something. Literally. It wasn't as bad as usual, seeming how the Dursley's weren't in the house, but Harry still felt confined by the old house and its memories. The corners of his mouth twitched a little at the memory of his "home coming".

_Sighing, Harry waved at the ministry car, and the blurred faces of his friends from behind the tinted glass, and slowly walked toward the door. Setting down his trunk, he knocked deliberately and politely on the door. Petunia answered the door with a pleasant smile on her face that had dropped the instant she realized who the shaggy boy in front of her was. Her features went from shock to, not the disgust that Harry was expecting but fear and regret. _

"_Hello Aunt Petunia."_

_Following her pursed lips, he entered the kitchen where Dudley and Vernon were eating lunch. They both gave the expected looks of disgust, like Harry was a finger nail they found in their food. Though they were eating so fast that it puzzled Harry as to how they would be able to see what they were eating much less anything else. _

"_Just because that doddering old fool made us..."_

_Harry, stone faced, pulled out his wand and whispered under his breath "_Explosivo!" _and exploded the remains of their lunch._

_None of them said a word after that. Dudley sat there stupidly holding a sandwich in his hand. Uncle Vernon was looking as Harry his mouth gaping, trying to form some words about how Harry was going to be punished by his Ministry of Magic, but nothing seemed to be able to make it past his fat purple lips. It was Aunt Petunia that Harry's eyes met. She was starring at him again with that look of fear and regret. _

_Harry could understand the fear, but the regret? Was it regret that she had ever taken him in? And suddenly it became clear, as a look of pity slowly came into her eyes. _She_ felt sorry for _him_. Within the hour they had all packed their belongings, and Uncle Vernon was fuming at the steering wheel. Aunt Petunia was the last out slowly carrying her bags, and Harry noticed that she looked older. _

"_I'll be gone in a month," he said quietly as she passed him where he was holding the door open. _

_She walked past him, completely silent. Harry almost didn't see the small white piece of paper that fell from her numb hands. He watched as they drove out of sight and then turned to go into the house, to start his month of imprisonment. It was as he was stepping over the threshold that he saw it, just a plain white slip of paper neatly folded. As he opened it, Harry found in Aunt Petunia's neat elegant hand writing two words: _I'm sorry.

Sighing again, Harry looked at his neat desk where the lip piece of paper was now spread out. He got off his bed and paced the small space of his room. He hadn't moved from his little room. The other rooms had too much of the house's other occupants presence in them. For once though, the room was neat, free of dirty clothes and half eaten meals.

The spare time was driving Harry insane. There were so many things that he could be doing that it just seemed ridiculous to be wandering around this house. But even with his frustrations, Harry couldn't seem to get the energy together to get something done, like search for information about the Horcruxes. All he could remember was Dumbledore's face and his old voice and suddenly all the energy he had drained away. It was like all of his drive had been sapped away in a few moments. Harry knew that he should be doing something: practicing hexes, researching the Horcruxes, trying to marshal the forces of good for one last stand.

He should be doing anything but what he was doing now, which was absolutely nothing except wandering around the house and staring off out the windows.

Bill and Fleur's wedding had been beautiful, a splash of laughter against the silence. Harry had managed to make it through the entire thing without completely losing it; he even enjoyed himself at some parts of it. Now that he was alone in this house of bad memories, Harry couldn't seem to stop reliving the past: Sirius, Dumbledore, Cedric, his parents, Neville's parents, and the millions dead at Voldemort's behest. What was to come of it all? Really when he thought about it, there was no guarantee that he would win. This was not some novel where everything would work out in the end. It was real life where bad things did happen, where the bag guys did win some times. Falling onto the bed Harry curled up and closed his eyes, falling asleep in the warm sun.

_**...Screams, coming from all over, a dark dungeon covered in slime and something dark and red, the smell of rotten meat. He's running, but he's not sure why. He just has to get to the end of the dank hall. He stumbled over things on the ground in the dark, not daring to think about what they might be. He has just got to get to the end of the hall…**_

…_**Screams, coming from all over, in the middle of the woods, silver with moonlight and full of barely perceptible sounds. He's running but he's not sure why. He has just got to reach the clearing he knows is ahead of him. There are noises of creatures all around him, chasing him, but he can't stop to find out what they are. He has just got to get to the clearing…**_

…_**Screams, coming from all over, in a quiet house, abandoned by its owners, perfect in, every "normal" way. He's running but he's not sure why. He has just got to reach the bedroom at the top of the stairs, which seem to go one forever even though he could have sworn that there was only one short little flight. He doesn't care though. He has just got to get to the top…**_

…_**The scenes flicker by, one moment at Hogwarts, one moment in London, one moment in Gringotts, one moment in the Malfoy Mansion, one moment in a cluttered house he's never seen. All he knows is that he has to get some where and find some one. **_


	2. Knocking on Heaven's Door

**The Familiar Stranger**

It happened the thirteenth day that Harry was at the Dursley's. He had rolled out of bed at exactly seven a.m. when he couldn't stand pretending to sleep anymore. The most that he could sleep at night was about two hours before the nightmares threw him out into the world of the living. During the day all that he did was mechanically eat, take long naps, or drift listlessly about the house caught some where between the need to act and utter lack of energy. The other day, Harry had caught himself wandering from room to room in a sort of daze, his feet just stepping one in front of the other without a goal. He felt so tired that he thought he would drop, but couldn't summon the will to tell his feet to stop moving. Eventually, he had sunken down on the carpet into immediate sleep and not woken up for another five hours.

Harry rolled slowly out of bed and carefully changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He didn't even have to use his brain anymore; his body simply cruised through all the motions; he was on complete autopilot. Stumbling down the carpeted steps, Harry entered the laminated kitchen, bright with morning sun, and opened the fridge. It had been full when he had arrived, but now there was almost nothing. Taking out the milk he poured a little over some stale cereal and started to eat it. He had chewed a swallowed three bites and was scooping up a fourth before he realized the milk was sour. Shoving the bowl away in disgust, Harry filled glass with tap water and tried to wash the taste out of his mouth. He sat down at the kitchen table again and started to stare off out the window again when there was a knock at the door.

Harry didn't look up at the tentative tapping. It was probably just the mailman. When the knock came again Harry froze. Harry picked up his wand which was always close by. His breathe was caught in his throat as he padded down the dark hall to the front door. The knock came a third time, this time taking on a little urgency. Harry's fingers stopped a few centimeters from the door knob, trying to decide whether it was a good idea to open the door or not.

"_You're being paranoid,"_ he remonstrated himself; "_It's probably just a FedEx package._" Composing his face, he slowly turn the door knob and opened the door, not quite sure what to expect. The familiar face that met his was definitely in none of the scenarios that he had expected.

"You son of a bitch how dare you show up here!"

Harry grabbed Draco Malfoy by the throat with one of his hands and pointed his wand at his face, hatred twisting across his features. Had anyone seen the famous Boy-Who-Lived at that moment they would have known the same fear that was inspired by the whispering of Voldemort's name.

They stood there for a few moments, while Harry incoherent with rage. The clear summer sun shined down on the two figures outside the open door of Number Four Privet Drive. A light breeze sighed as the seconds lethargically ticked by and the two boys stood there in a death hold.

"You should kill me…of that I am sure," Draco rasped out, "but if you use magic…out here they will call the…muggle law enforcers…"

"You are absolutely right, you mother fucker," Harry growled and pulled him into the house slamming the door behind him. The dark of the hallway was an abrupt change and Draco blinked trying to adjust his sight, Harry didn't even pause. He dragged Draco down the hall by the collar of his button down shirt. Harry threw him into the wall decorated with light green wallpaper covered in daisies. The clock chimed as its gears shifted at the impact. Harry punched him in the jaw once and then as he stumbled again, hitting with all the rage that had built up sine the death of Sirius.

"HOW DARE YOU EVEN SHOW YOUR FACE HERE!!!" He screamed and drug Draco into a standing position and punched him in the stomach.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!" Harry screamed again, the pitiful figure of Draco resting against the wall clutching his stomach only making him madder.

Slamming him into the kitchen table, which cracked under the impact leaving Draco lying in the middle of crocheted lace and splintered varnished wood, Harry looked down at the prone figure of his "arch nemesis". His heavy breathing filled his ears and his eyes stung and the room seemed to be blurring a little. Slowly he pulled out his wand and pointed at the prostrate blond wizard on the floor. It would be so easy to kill this worm right now, and to make it hurt oh so badly.

_It wouldn't make you feel better Harry. This is what makes you different…_

_Harry leave the bastard, he's not even worth it…besides, mum would kill me if I let my godson hit a member of the House of Black…_

_Harry, we love you…_

And as the voices of those dead filled his head, Harry saw Draco in another light. All of the sudden their little rivalry didn't seem so important. Draco didn't seem so important. There was nothing to be achieved by this death, nothing. He wasn't even worth Harry's time. For a long time Harry just stared at the figured curled up in the ruins of Aunt Petunia's prized table, little and changed.

For the first time, Harry saw a glimpse of what most people saw in him: the hard look of a kid who got something he never wanted way too young. Maybe that's why he didn't throw the bloody body out.

"Forget it Malfoy, just forget it…" Harry paused and looking down on the thin form he felt a cold pity.

He might have waited for Malfoy's response. He might have offered him a room or shown him around. He might have told him what and what not to do. Harry, frankly, didn't care. All he did was turn his back and leave. He had things to do.

Draco had thought he had been prepared for everything that Potter would do to him. He knew that Potter knew that he played some role in Dumbledore's death. He knew that Potter hated him and had from the day they had met. Being prepared for all that rage and experiencing it was another thing.

When Harry had grabbed Draco's throat, Draco could only stare at him in shock. Then, when the hated twisted its way across Harry's face, Draco couldn't summon the need to care. All of his energies and emotions had been spent getting here and never on what would happen after. Now that he was here there was nothing left to do.

He felt the punches; he felt them in what seemed like every nerve ending there was. _Jesus_, he thought to himself in a detached manner and Harry punched him again, _Potter has a nice arm. CHRIST! That one hurt. _Finally Potter had let him fall into the table, the wood splintering all around his limp body. In his mind's eye he could see Potter pulling out his wand to finish him off. It is what he would have done. There was silence for a long time before Draco heard Harry speak and was struck still for a moment, not only by the pain, but by utter shock.

"Forget it Malfoy, just forget it," in a voice that was more Slytherin than Draco thought the Gryffindor was capable of.

He lay there for a long time after Harry left. At first it was the pain that kept him down, arching through his body at different periods. It was not the worst that he had experienced by far, but that didn't mean it didn't still hurt. Then he just lay there thinking, thinking about all that had happened to him in the past year, the past month, the night before, sitting in the dew try to summon the courage to face Potter. Eventually, his eye closed and he drifted off into blackness, the most recent goal of his life completed. For now, there was nothing else.

It was as if Draco's arrival and Harry's ensuing bout of rage had cleared up the lethargic apathy that had held Harry so tightly in its grasp. He had never felt so alert. He was now up in his room furiously writing letters to everyone he could think of. Ron. Hermione. Remus. Tonks. Neville. Fred and George. Hagrid. McGonagall. More. Harry sent off for historical books, maps, and several different potions materials.

He signed the last letter and handed it off to a peeved looking Hedwig. Her natural style was some what cramped by the large load of letters she was carrying. She was also upset by the presence of the great owl to her left. Some of Harry's correspondents couldn't be seen receiving letters from the owl of Harry Potter. He threw open the windows and sat back. Time had started to blur while he had been at his desk, and when he looked out he was surprised to see that they sun was low in the sky. It had seemed like forever go that Draco had entered the house and Harry had…well tried his best to kill him.

Harry still hadn't figured out how he felt. There was simply too much between him and Draco for any one, much less a very confused, stressed teen, to figure out in a few hours. Still, things had been decidedly quiet and Harry decided that he should go down and at least check on Draco. Tiredly, Harry walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, only to find the Draco was still prone on the floor. Harry froze for a moment, afraid that he had actually done Draco some serious damage. Then he noticed the deep even breathes and the flickering behind his eye lids. Apart from a lot of minor cuts and livid bruise on his cheek, which made Harry winced, Malfoy seemed fine.

"Levicorpus!" Harry said gently and lifted the sleeping boy temporarily to the immaculate white couch. Heading back to the kitchen he surveyed the damage and sighed. He had been completely out of control. Taking a deep breath, he started to set the kitchen to rights.

The whole thing didn't take long and before Harry knew it he was standing in the middle of Aunt Petunia's immaculate-in-a-sort-of-nauseating-way kitchen. It didn't seem right that it should look so innocent when Harry had been on the brink of murdering some one in it, but – Harry stopped trying to think about it. Nothing was ever going to make any of this alright. Sighing he walked in to the living room that was only lit by the street lamps outside. There was a soft rain pattering on the window, blurring the orange light, but Harry could see Draco pretty well. His blond hair was white blond as ever, longer than it had been, and he seemed to have grown a few inches since Harry had seen him. The thing that bothered him the most though, was the expression on his sleeping face. Harry had noticed it, if only vaguely, when he had opened the door. Draco looked older, sadder, and as Harry continued to stare at him all he could bring to mind was a picture he had once seen of an angel.

They had been on a trip to the museum for school, and to escape a bored Dudley and his friends, Harry had wandered into a room that was mostly out of sight. It had been a collection of angels, all sorts from cherubs to wise guardians to vengeful and bloody warriors. There had been one though that struck him almost like a physical blow. It was a painting of an angel stripped to the waist, hanging in the air. His wings were spread out in their full majesty, they alone enough to inspire awe. The angel had beautiful shaggy blond hair and skin that was paler than the sun tinted clouds behind him. The thing that had struck Harry most was the look of pure sorrow that filled up his entire face and bled out his eyes. The title of the painting had been "Morningstar"*.

Now as Harry watched Draco he could see the same expression, the same pain. It was confusing. Everything had been so much simpler when Draco was the immature brat he had always appeared, when he was the bad guy, when he was nothing. Now Harry couldn't help wondering – no, that was something for another time. Harry couldn't hate Draco any more, but that didn't mean he had to like him or feel sorry for him. All of the sudden the image of Draco crying in the bathrooms splayed itself across Harry's thoughts. _No_ Harry thought to himself _this is neither the time nor the place_.

Harry levitated Draco up the stairs and stopped in indecision for a moment before proceeding into his aunt and uncle's room. He left Draco in the air while he whisked their personal belongings into their two respective closets and locked them. He walked into the bathroom and did the same, leaving out the soap and shampoo and the like. Pulling back the covers he laid the still sleeping Draco on the bed and ran a handy scanning spell that he'd pick up from Madam Pomfrey before he had left. There was nothing too terribly wrong with him. There was going to be a nasty bruise on his side along with the one on his cheek and some scratches from the table. He was going to one hell of a sore wizard in the morning, but other wise he was okay. Harry pulled the covers over him before turning out the over head light and leaving.

Returning once more to the kitchen, Harry dialed a pizza delivery service. He paid the man with some of the money he had gotten exchanged before coming and fell asleep in front of the TV trying to block out all the disturbing things that were going through his head.

*Note: The symbolism of that paragraph will be totally ruined if you don't know that Morningstar was Lucifer's nickname before he fell from grace…but now you do so it's okay.


	3. An Uneasy Truce

**Uneasy Truce**

Draco slept for two days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes. When he woke up, he sucked in a breath and jerked up straight, looking around wildly trying to focus his brain. When he remembered that he was somewhere safe, or at least safe to his muddled mind, he didn't question and went back to sleep for another four hours. When he finally opened his eyes for good, blinking hard and trying to figure out what had happened, he considered where he was: the muggle home of Harry bleedin' Potter. He rolled himself over onto his side and curled the blankets around him and he scrunched into a tiny ball. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he saw the letter. Gently picking it up he read the untidy scrawl that obviously belonged to Harry.

_Draco,_

_ You can stay here. I don't know why you are here and frankly don't care. You can imagine what I will do if you even think of doing something that I wouldn't like. My aunt, uncle, and cousin will not be here until I leave (I would suggest that you leave before they come back)._

Harry

Draco blinked and looked at the letter again. Harry had gone from almost killing him to opening his house to him. The letter didn't sound like the Harry he remembered either. The Slytherin in Draco did not like this at all. It screamed of trap, but frankly Draco had reached his limit. He would never admit it to himself much less to anyone else, but he was about to break under the strain of it all. He needed this. He needed the time to just exist. Draco put aside his fears and decided to try and stay below Harry's radar, keep him form remembering who Draco really was.

First however, he needed a shower. A decade and a half of pureblood fastidiousness did not fade with the mere fact of overwhelming trauma. Now that Draco was once again "safe", his old habits were coming back.

Harry looked up from his desk as he heard the shower turn on. So, he was finally awake. Harry had begun to worry. He was sure that there hadn't been anything really wrong with him, but there was always that chance he could have missed something. He had spent long hours watching Draco sleep, trying to figure out all of the things that were running around his head: the need to hate, the need to understand, the need to get any revenge that he could, the need to pity, the need to feel disgust, the need to understand that beautiful lonely look on his face. Every time Harry thought about the second occupant of the house his mind shut down in a whirlwind of conflicting views.

Pushing it all aside, he turned back to the heavy book on Godric Gryffindor, and the cramped notes that were about three feet long.

Draco rested his forehead against the shower and let the hot water run over him. He let the third round of suds, which had nothing at all to do with his need to be immaculately clean, slide off of him. He slowly breathed in a deep breath of the steamy air. Calming his mind, he slowly let each of the problems drop from his mind, as if gravity suddenly worked there, until there was only blackness. Then slowly he picked one of the thoughts (otherwise known as the problem of Harry Potter) off the floor of his mind and looked into it. It took about five seconds for him to convince himself that he had plenty of time to do deal with it all later.

Stepping out of the shower, Draco realized that he was going to have to put on his dirty clothes back on. Grimacing he walked out into the room and spelled one of the closets open. It was full of ginormous clothing, which Draco seriously doubted would fit an elephant. Closing the door with a shudder he opened the other one. It had smaller more feminine clothing in it. Draco sighed and supposed that it was the best he was going to do. Rummaging through it, he managed to find a pair of jeans and a simple black shirt. A small voice in the back of Draco's mind sighed over the fact that he could fit into girls clothing, but the other more dominant side beat the other into submission and declared that he looked fine despite the horrendous tulips that covered the shirt. In fact he did. The girl jeans accentuated Draco's slim waist and the black shirt stretched across his finely toned chest. True he did look a little awkward…

…But then again even awkward looked good on Draco.

Harry sat on his window sill and thought…and thought…and thought. After a few restful nights, the insomnia was back. Draco had been there for about a week now and neither of them had sad anything. In fact, Harry hadn't really even seen Draco. The only reason he even knew that he was there was the occasional quiet thump or the continuous sound of the shower. Harry had slept well for three nights. He had not been able to sleep again for four. Some times he would think about Sirius or Dumbledore or his parents or Voldemort or a million other things that rushed through his continually active brain. Mostly he thought about Draco though.

He couldn't reconcile himself to the presence of the boy who had once been his arch enemy. All the time that Draco had made his life hell…then again all that seemed trivial now, unimportant. What really troubled Harry was what had just happened. Draco had however indirectly caused the death of Dumbledore. His father was a Death Eater who had tried to kill Harry more than once. His aunt had killed Harry's godfather and his one chance to get away from this stupid house. Every time that these thoughts circled through his head right behind him were the memories of Draco crying to Moaning Myrtle, memories of Draco being unable to kill Dumbledore when it really came down to it. And when it came down to it, Harry could not bring himself to kill someone who looked so tired, so broken.

It bothered him that he could think of killing anyone at all.

Harry leaned back against the windowsill and looked out at the moon and the stars. Breathing in the night air, he just decided to let it go, to muddle through one more day without coming up with a solution.

Draco lay asleep in his bed dreaming. His eyes clenched and he drove his finger nails into his palms until deep purple crescents formed. His body curled up into the tiniest ball that it could manage. Draco continued to dream, a small vulnerable body lost to the world.

Harry sat bolt up right from where he had drifted off at the window sill as a terrified scream ripped through the house. Grabbing his wand his catapulted himself towards where the scream was coming from, which just so happened to be the room Draco had been sleeping in. The full moon cast all its light on the twisting form of Draco on the bed. The sheets were a complete mess and he was writhing in what looked liked excruciating pain.

"Shit," Harry hissed completely confused as to what was happening. He suddenly realized that the boy was having a nightmare and tried to pin him down. "You're alright, you're fine. No one's going to hurt you. You're safe…" Harry babbled with really little thought to whom he was talking to. It was out of instinct that he let him own nightmare driven monologue pour out.

At the word safe Draco's body stopped thrashing and slowly went peaceful as if his dream had suddenly stopped being a nightmare. Harry took a deep breath and tried to settle his nerves. He and his mind sat there frozen for an hour, simply watching Draco sleep, the ghost of a smile on his face now. Finally Harry got up and left. Pausing at the door he turned, looked again at the sleeping boy, and wondered what had made him so scream.

Draco listened for a moment and deeming that Harry was in his room working on what ever it was that he spent his time doing opened the door and snuck downstairs. It wasn't that he didn't have every right to be leaving his room; it was just that Draco wasn't all that comfortable seeing Harry. A little of it had to do with the fact that the last time they had met Harry had beaten him to a pulp, but most of it had to do with the fact that he was afraid that if Harry realized that he was here then he might kick him out. Draco had learned it was better to let sleeping dogs lie, especially when they had just given you something for no discernable reason.

He went down to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich. Running his wand over the dishes, Draco washed and dried them. (Normally he would have left it to the house elves, but he didn't want to leave a single trance of himself.) Draco walked out to the stairs full and reasonably happy and froze. There was Harry Potter at the top of the stairs, staring at him with an unreadable look on his face. Draco could not seem to make himself move. He just stared up at the tall figure at the top of the stairs. Draco hadn't really seen much of Harry the past year, he'd been too preoccupied with trying to – he just hadn't seen him.

The Boy Who Lived was definitely taller and more filled out, no longer gangly and awkward. His hair was black as ever and just a messy, but it looked good, purposeful, instead of retaining the I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-twenty-minutes-late look. He looked older, not just a year or two, but ages older. It was as if some where in between their petty rivalry and now he had crossed over from being a lost child to care worn adult. Mentally Draco sighed over the fact that this war had turned so many old before their time. It was truly a shame.

Harry jerked to a halt when he saw Draco at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn't really the shock of seeing him outside of his room but the events of the night before. He wondered if Draco knew that he had come in. Their silence grew and they continued to stare at each other. Draco had a wary calculating look on his face that slowly faded to that old sad look. The bruise on his face was livid and colorful next to the paleness of his skin and hair. Harry winced when he saw it, realizing that its brother on Draco's ribs must be even worse. He also realized that Draco was wearing – Aunt Petunia's clothing?!? That was too weird. Harry guiltily reminded himself to lend Draco some of his clothes. Looking at Draco, Harry's whirlwind was gently swept aside by pity. Despite what he may feel for Draco there was also the decency that he deserved as a human, and no one should have to wear Aunt Petunia's clothes. He had done some bad shit, some really bad shit, but in the end he was still a human like Harry and Ron and Hermione.

Time seemed to stretch on into infinity and finally Draco's eyes dropped. The trance broken Draco demurely made his way up the steps, past Harry, and into his room, not making a single sound except the slick of the door closing to his room. Harry stared for a long time at the place where Draco had been standing, in some ways more confused the ever and overwhelmed with guilt.

Another scream woke Harry that night and again he rushed into Draco's room and talked to him until he stopped. Returning to his own room Harry had been about to make another stab as sleeping, which he knew would be futile but was going to try anyway, when the screaming began again. Racing down the hall for the second time Harry went through the same motions. Once Draco was apparently okay, instead of leaving Harry kicked back in one of Uncle Vernon's' enormous arm chairs and watched Draco sleep.

When the first rays of dawn started to come up, Harry snuck back to his room and found a pile of clothes that might fit Draco. The blond was marginally taller than Harry, but they were about the same build. He folded then quickly and then placed then on the edge of Draco's bed. Tiredly he tramped down the hall and entered his room to write more letters and do more research. A new set of books had arrived from Flourish & Blotts and he had to finish them all before he left here.

Draco woke in the morning, more rested than he had been in a year. On the edge of his bed he saw an oddly shaped lump. When he realized what it was and who it must belong to, Draco grew very thoughtful. After contemplating the pile of clothing for a long while, he picked up a pair of pants, a t-shirt, and (_thank god)_ a new pair of boxers and went to go take another shower.


	4. As If Things Couldn't Get Any Stranger

**A Knock at the Door**

Harry sat in the window sill watching over Draco like he had for the past four nights. There was only about a week left in his stay at the Dursley's, and there was no way that he was staying here a moment longer than he had to. Who in their right mind would? The only question was what to do with Draco. Harry's narrowed his eyes and in the dim light studied the figure lying on the bed. Draco was sprawled out across the covers, his chest rising and falling slowly and deeply. The bruise on his side had moved into the sickly yellow stage, and the bruise on his face was just an off colored shadow. He mumbled something and rolled over on his side away from Harry.

Harry too, turned away and looked out into the night from the widow sill. Ever since he had gotten to the Dursley's he had formed a borderline obsession with sitting in windowsills. It was getting a little ridiculous to be honest. Looking again at the piece of parchment with mixed feelings, Harry read the spidery writing for what seemed like the billionth time:

_Dear Harry, _

_ Number 12 Grimwauld place has been secured. Once your stay at the Dursley's is over you are more than welcome to settle there. I do hope that you reconsider returning to Hogwarts next year. _

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

It was Sirius's house, the place that Harry should have grown up in. There was no doubt that he wanted to live there, despite the screaming painting of Mrs. Black, despite having to live with all of the memories, despite the presence of Kreacher every now and then. The question was if he wanted to take Draco with him.

_It would probably make Mrs. Black happy_ he thought to himself a grim little smile finding its way onto his face.

_HELLO SELF! ARE YOU CONSIDERING THIS AT ALL!?!? THIS IS THE SLIME THAT TRIED TO KILL DUMBLEDORE!_

_ Hello to other self: he didn't kill Dumbledore. He couldn't. Doesn't that mean that he was good?_

_ HELLO AGAIN TO SELF! THIS IS DRACO MALFOY! DRACO MALFOY!!!_

_And?_

_MAY I REAPEAT: DRACE FLIPPIN' MALFOY!!!_

_ Other self, he's obviously not himself. Has he even made one snide comment? Come to think of it he hasn't really said anything…_

_ MALFOY!!!!_

_ I wonder what's wrong with him? Hell, look at him…he's pathetic..._

_ MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!! MALFOY!!!_

_ I mean he is so thin – would you _please _stop talking in capitols. I am trying to sort out my conflicting feelings_

_ I AM YOUR CONFLICTING BLOODY FEELINGS!_

_ Would you SHUT UP!!!_

_ I think that we should kill the stupid Draco Malfoy-es…to protect our preciousss!_

_ *Both selves stop and stare* …right…_

It was at this point that Harry stop listening to his inner voices enough to realize that he was arguing with himself, and for the first time through the guilt and the pain a ray of sunshine broke through: he needed so much sleep that it was kind of but not really funny. All of this could wait until later…much later.

Harry leaned up against the window sill and closed his eyes drifting off to sleep.

Draco woke up and for the first time in a year he felt like himself. Eyes glittering in the dark he watched the sleeping form on the window sill. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The only true nemesis of the Dark Lord, now that...well now that _he_ was dead. Guilt is a powerful accent to time; guilt seems to age its victims way past their physical age. The Draco Malfoy who stared at the sleeping Harry Potter was not the Draco who had fled weeping, propelled by the unrelenting hands of Snape, nor was he even the Draco who had stumbled tired and weak into the violent hospitality of Harry's muggle home. The eyes that started out now, were neither weak nor angry; all that they begged for was atonement.

That was what kept Draco alive, kept him going beyond anything he had thought possible. Those long weeks and months had stretched Draco into some that no one who had known that brat before would recognize. There are some things that so alter the human soul that there is very little of the original mind left. The shock and trauma of everything that had befallen the weak pure blood brat had snapped something in his cerebrum and redirected all his thought, wishes, desires, fears, ambitions to one thing: atonement through vengeance. There were times that he was able to forget about it in some respect, but it was always there, under his thoughts.

As he started out through the moonlight, finally truly awake from the sleep walk his over stretched body had entered into upon arriving here, and saw instead of the restless sleep of a 17-year-old savior, a chance for an atonement so deep that it might even begin to fight the demons that plagued him in the night.

Harry bolted awake as a particularly obnoxious song bird screamed it song in the branch right next to his ear. He jumped another foot, which cause him to land with a thud onto the floor, when he realized that it was completely bright outside and that Draco had already arisen and wasn't anywhere in the room. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to think about how awkward this was going to be to explain. Sneaking out of the room, Harry prayed fervently that he would have a chance to retreat to his own room and think things out.

By the time he made it down to the kitchen, he found Draco staring moodily into a glass of orange juice like he wished it would die.

"Is there no coffee here?"

Harry blinked a moment, trying to process this new change, "Yeah, but you have to put it into a coffee maker."

"Well that's sadly simple."

"Didn't you take muggle studies?" Harry asked stupidly. In fact, both of the voiced inside his head paused in appreciation of the sheer ironic awkwardness of this conversation.

"Do you really think that I paid attention Po-Harry?" The slip was so slight that it was barely noticeable.

Harry didn't answer, but instead went about making a fresh pot of coffee. He was waiting with bated breath for Draco to ask him what he was doing in his room, watching him sleep. Draco cleared his throat.

_Shit._

"So Harry," the casual voice was laid thick with a sort of sardonic apathy, "what _are_ you going to do with me?"

Harry was silent for a while as he finished making the coffee. He handed Draco a cup.

"I suppose that you'll join me when I leave for my house."

Draco stared into the deep brown, shocked. That wasn't what he was expecting. He had been expecting to have to argue, to prove his loyalty, or even (though his back stiffened in protest) beg to gain a position of redemption. While he had stared moodily at the liquid-that-was-not-coffee he had decided that the only possible way that he could redeem himself in any way was to follow this all through at the right hand of Harry Potter. As noble families had once done to their kings, though he hadn't told Harry a word of this, Draco had sworn himself into Harry's service. He would not hold anything less than the most esteemed place at his new lord's side; A Malfoy would accept no less for his allegiance.

The silence was broken by a sharp knock at the door. Harry froze. Drawing his wand, he paused in hesitation and then handed Draco his, from the pocket of his jacket. The two of them crept to the door. Harry kept his wand trained on the door and motioned for Draco to open the door. Whatever Draco saw, he deemed it to be unthreatening and swung the door wide open. The last time that Harry had opened the door he had believed that Draco was the last person he expected to see. Now he knew that wasn't true.

Standing in the door with a slightly beaten case of luggage and a grim look of determination was the one and only Petunia Dursley.


End file.
